Ode To Madness
by Death-Nerd
Summary: Random little one-shot, two-shot and maybe even three-shot stories on various characters in the game. Most of them are written on the spur of the moment. First stories include; M'aiq and the Dark Brotherhood and Modryn goes on Vacation.
1. M'aiq, Maces, and Vacations

What's this? An OBLIVION fanfiction! Not a Naruto or Death Note fanfic? Well, you see I'm getting a bit bored of writing that and Oblivion is far more fun to write.

Anyway...

For those just tuning in this fanfiction will consist of random, seize the moment little ficlits. They are dumb, random, and hopefully hilarious. Most of them will consist of characters from the game but I might include some original characters (Maybe later I'll use some on request) ENJOY

Oh yes, please leave a review. 

* * *

The Grey Fox was known by his closest associates to be dark, mysterious, and friendly to those closest to him. But there were some things; however, that not even his closest friends knew about him, and that is what made him mysterious. One night one of those secrets was made public at an embarrassing top-secret dinner party; but that has nothing to do with our story. Our story tonight is about a half-mad Dunmer, a Khajiit, a guard of the Imperial Legion, and a member of the dark brotherhood; with guest appearances throughout the night. I hope you enjoy Ode to Madness. 

One cold night on a road somewhere between Bravil and Leyawin, a lone Khajiit in a blue mages robe walked slowly down the road. His shoes made a 'clop' 'clop' noise on the ground as he walked, and the only other noise was of the swamp life around him. He carried no torch and was only able to see by the light of the moon shining brightly above. The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a horse walking slowly towards him from the opposite direction. The Khajiit narrowed his eyes and continued walking, slowly stuffing the Skooma deeper into his inner robe pocket. It was a Legion Guard doing a routine highway patrol on his horse, his armor shining brightly in the moonlight. The Khajiit began to pick up his pace and brought his hood up more, but his efforts were in vain. 

"Good Even- hey, do I know you?" The guard asked, stopping his horse. The Khajiit winced, and stopped next to the horse. 

"Um…" the Khajiit mumbled "no, I don't believe we've met. Good evening I must be on my way." The Khajiit attempted to move on but was stopped once again by the voice of the stupid guard. 

"Hold on, I'm _sure_I've seen your face somewhere!" The guard rubbed his chin thoughtfully and examined the Khajiit with a determined intensity. The Khajiit looked back so as not to seem suspicious and prayed to the nine divines that he wouldn't recognize him.

"Oh yes! Now I remember!" As the guard turned and rummaged through his pack, the Khajiit considered becoming a Sanguine worshipper. While the Khajiit pondered his worshipping plans the guard pulled out a large piece of rolled up parchment from his pack and unrolled it, revealing a wanted poster with the likeness of the Khajiit drawn on the parchment. It read: Wanted, M'aiq the Liar for illegal Skooma dealings. Reward: 400 septims WARNING extremely fast, pursue on horseback only. 

The guard looked down at M'aiq from his horse in an intimidating way and in the usual powerful tone, the guard began his speech. 

"M'aiq the Liar, you are under arrest for illegal Skooma dealings, either you pay the fine or go to jail."

The Khajiit now known as M'aiq glared up at the guard and bared his teeth. 

"The prey should not threaten M'aiq so harshly," he growled. "I doubt that mangy horse of yours could even keep up with me." And with that he dashed off leaving only a trail of dust in his wake. He heard the guard's surprised shout and the sound of the horse's hooves hitting the ground in pursuit. M'aiq smirked and dashed on with incredible speed, easily outrunning the guard's slow painted horse. Unfortunately, M'aiq was too engrossed in his escape that he failed to notice the Dunmer walking towards him. They collided with a loud 'whoomph' sound and fell back on the ground; and before M'aiq could sit up and shout profanities, the Guard caught up and promptly got off his horse to tie M'aiq up. As he did this, the Dunmer man sat up, his red eyes wide with fright like a scared deer and darting back and forth. 

"Oh-oh excuse me, I-I didn't mean to not run into your cat-like bosom, excuse-sorry." And that's when M'aiq noticed; the man had no pants on. In fact he was dressed very peculiarly, adding to the fact that he was in his underwear from the waist down, he wore a fur helmet that was a bit crooked and wore a shirt that had it's sleeves ripped off. The guard heaved the now tied up M'aiq onto his horse and then mounted himself, giving the Dunmer a strange look before saying, 

"Well, I must be off citizen, good night." 

"NO!" the pants-less man shouted. "I-I'm trying to find The Shivering Isles, can you direct me to them?"

The guard put on another confused look and replied, "The what isles? I'm sorry citizen but I don't think there is such a place."

"Of course there is a place such as!" he yelled back, standing up in a flash. "Lord Sheogorath owns the place and sells beer good that is! Cannot find it I can't no so directions I need!" The Dunmer continued to rant in an undecipherable way while pacing back and forth on the roadside. The guard was so engrossed in trying to understand the man that M'aiq took the opportunity to try and slip off the horse. But his attempt was futile as the guard noticed and grabbed his robe to pull him back up onto the horse. Then suddenly, the Dunmer stopped pacing and went very quiet; the Guard and M'aiq watched on with curious eyes. Then he snapped, and pulled out a shortsword shouting, "FRWAAAAAAAAAGHHH!" He charged and attempted to stab the Guard, but only succeeded in hurting his horse. The Guard now infuriated dismounted and pulled out his sword, ready to defend his horse. M'aiq smirked and quietly slid off the horse while using his sharp claws to cut the rope around his wrists and slunk into the woods as the battle raged on. Once he was past the tree line he made a run for it; he wasn't going to risk being caught again. Once he was far enough away that he felt safe, M'aiq stopped and looked for a place to rest for the night. He was in the middle of the forest, he concluded, and there was no sign of civilization from where he was currently standing. M'aiq shrugged, and with the grace of a drunken Nord he laid down on some comfortable foliage and fell asleep. 

Somewhere in the Shivering Isles…

"Aww, fuzzbuckets. I thought that one would surely make it to my realm, but I guess not. The Khajiit was interesting though, but borin' as well." Sheogorath frowned, then smiled. He leaned back into his throne and thought about what to have for dinner while tossing his cane back and forth between his hands. _'Brain Pie is always a good thing, but I have it too much, I need something new,'_ he thought. "Haskil m'boy! What should I have for dinner?" he shouted lazily from his throne. Haskil looked up from where he was standing and in his usual monotone replied, "I'm not sure my Lord. Although, might I suggest cheese and Sweetrolls?" 

"Cheese and Sweetrolls! Of course! You sure are smart Haskil, but not as smart as, say, a woodlouse."

"Of course, sir." And with that they returned to their tasks. 

M'aiq woke to the sound of a deep chuckle resonating from someone above him. With a start he sat up and looked into the face of a man in a midnight black robe and hood. It was still dark out, so his features were obscured by the shadows of the trees. 

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer," He began in a deep voice. "That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose." 

M'aiq paled and slunk back away from the hooded man, "M-M'aiq is no murderer, you can't prove anything!" 

This just earned another chuckle from the hooded man who had stooped down to his eye-level.

"Mm, I'd beg a differ. You, my dear friend are a cold-blooded murderer, and Sithis wants _you,_" he emphasized this by pointing at him with a gloved finger, "to join a brotherhood of sorts, a family."

M'aiq glared at the man. "And what makes you think M'aiq will join your 'brotherhood'? He sneered. The man smirked and leaned back on the balls of his feet. 

"Because we pay you, and with that money you can buy _all the Skooma you want._" 

M'aiq's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and he began to drool.

"R-really?" he said dreamily.

"Really." 

M'aiq thought about what he had just learned (like his mother had taught him to do) and made a decision.

"Sure," he shrugged, "why not? It sounds like fun to M'aiq. Besides, M'aiq can buy more Skooma that way" The mysterious hooded man laughed at that and then proceeded to give him the instructions for his initiation. Kill some old Breton named Rufio and he was in. Once he was done giving him the instructions the hooded man left, disappearing into the night. Needless to say, M'aiq forgot about the hooded man for a while and procrastinated on the assignment for a few weeks. He was too busy buying Skooma, running from guards and telling people interesting facts to murder helpless old men. But eventually he rediscovered the dagger he was given by the hooded man and did the task, successfully joining and becoming a murderer. 

NOW FOR SOMETHING TOTALLY DIFFERENT!

* * *

Modryn Oreyn enjoyed the simple things. Simple houses, simple weapons, and simple people. Complex things like why the Blackwood Company acted the way they did their _feelings_ he did not like. So when some stupid new recruit came in and began to explain to him that there was a decent motive behind the Blackwood Company, Modryn was in fact, very peeved. It didn't help that he had lost a bet, dropped 100 septims down a drain, and almost screamed at the guildmaster for not letting her son go on a contract; all within the last few hours. It just wasn't his day, he supposed. Then, all at once all of the pent up frustration from the day just snapped at the utterance of _one __**simple phrase.**_

"Hey Modryn, can I get a raise?" 

With a loud cry Modryn pulled out his mace from it's holster and started to swing it at the nearest thing that moved. Everyone in the room scrambled for cover, knocking over tables and each other in an attempt to escape the enraged Master Swordsman's wrath. The porter and guildmaster both ran downstairs to see what as with the commotion and then promptly ran to restrain Modryn from harming anyone. After much scuffling and dragging they finally managed to calm Modryn down to a decent level. His usually trim Mohawk was messy and fell all over his face and head. He held a towel to his newly acquired head wound and breathed heavily as he sat across from the guildmaster in her office. The guildmaster dismissed the porter and then faced Modryn, a look of anger on her face with hints of concern showing. 

"Modryn," she said sternly. He looked up from the floor and met her gaze with a weak glare. "I'm concerned about your stress levels, you've always been a little hot-headed but this shows that I've been taking your aggression problem lightly." 

"WHAT AGRESSION PROBLEM?" Modryn shouted, slamming his free palm on her desk; she didn't even flinch. 

"Exactly my point. Now, to preserve the safety of your fellow guildmates I am hereby suspending you from the guild and putting you on a mandatory vacation until you can calm down."

His eyes grew wide and he slumped back into his chair, the anger dominating his features before was replaced entirely by utter shock. 

"I won a vacation to an island called Bliss," she explained, "but I've been saving the ticket for an emergency, and it's a good thing I did. From this point forward you are hereby suspended from doing any contracts, I'll have all the letters out to the other guildhalls by tomorrow, so don't try anything." Finished, the guildmaster sat back in her chair and waited for his reaction. He was still staring at the floor and still held the towel to his head, but his expression had gone blank. He stood up and walked away, not saying a word. 

As Modryn woke up the next morning in his simple shack, the reaction from yesterday's news was different than before. He sat up abruptly, and with his eyes glowing redder than usual, yelled things that this humble author cannot repeat. After his yelling was done he found his mace and stormed out of his house to smash something. He found just that thing outside of Chorrol; an Ogre had a very bad run of luck that morning when Modryn found him. 10 minutes later the Ogre's mangled corpse littered the ground with its brains scattered about and skull crushed in. A bit calmer, Modryn returned to his house to pack for his mandatory vacation with a cloud of frustration floating over his head. 

'_So,' _Modryn thought as he stepped out of the boat, _'this is Bliss…it's really bright.' _And indeed it was. The sky was a beautiful baby blue, the sand beaches were white, and there were flowers of every shape and color dotting the landscape. The trees were tall and had large leaves at the top that were almost as big as the dog he used to have. Modryn picked up his bags and walked off of the dock and onto the white beach of Bliss in the sandals someone suggest he wear. Clad in some too-short pants and a weird shirt covered in large flowers an Altmer with an odd thing across his eyes spotted Modryn and walked toward him with a smile that made clowns look depressed. 

"Why hello there! You must be the winner of our vacation contest! Welcome to Bliss, where everything is fabulous! I'm Almaron, and I shall be your assigned guide for your trip." The High Elf exclaimed in glee. As the Altmer rambled, Modryn noticed that he talked in a high, prepubescent tone and giggled every now and then between his words. He also had swished his hips in an odd way when he walked toward him; he was very disturbing, Modryn concluded. He tuned back in just as Almaron was finishing his speech 

"So, I'll just show you to you're room and I'll see you at the boar roast!" the High Elf paused- still smiling- and then asked with a tilt of his head, "By the way, I never caught your name sweetie, mind telling me what it is?" Modryn shuddered at the new nickname and stared up at the Altmer with a slight twitch.

"M-Modryn Oreyn. Can you not call me sweetie anymore, it's very…" _disturbing, horrendous, f'ed up! _"Uncomfortable." 

Almaron's smile faltered for a minute but came back up in all its shininess within a millisecond. "All right then pumpkin, I won't call you that anymore, now, lets go see your totally fab room!" he said in the same upbeat tone. Modryn's shoulders slumped at the new nickname, and with a grunt he picked up his bags and followed the crazy High Elf to who-knows-where.

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I'm going to continue the Modryn story in the next chapter. REVIEW


	2. Shivering Isles

Okay, I lied. I can't think of anything for the Modryn Story, so it won't be in this chapter. BUT I'M WORKING ON IT F'SHO!

This chapter will probably be riddled with mistakes because most of it was written at 1 in the morning. So please bear with me.

* * *

Once upon a time in a rural area of Crucible, a new resident to the Shivering Isles name Lucian Lachance walked out of his decrepit old house house. Stepping into the street he scraped off his shoes on the dingy doormat in disgust. He hated it here, the dirty, smelly people, the vermin creeping in every corner, the strange plants and people, and their crazy ruler of the realm Sheogorath. When he had been brutally killed he had fully expected to be exalted by Sithis, but when he woke up he was hanging upside-down in the torture chambers of the palace. Luckily for him, he was a master of stealth and lock picking, so he was able to escape easily. Un-luckily for him though, his soul was somehow brought to the realm of madness and, until further notice, he was stuck here. Exactly _why_ he was stuck here he wasn't sure. But for some reason Sithis had deemed him unworthy and had sent him to an insane, unattractive, _hell. _A fellow resident walked by, shouting a quick hello with a toothy smile as he followed an Orc like a baby chick, just another crazy person; oh how Lucian _hated _it here. He changed his mind about going to find a map and went back inside his house, deciding to do it later when he was in a better mood.

From a dark alleyway a Skooma addict stalked. Caldana Monrius smiled eerily as she watched the new resident of crucible step back into his house in a huff as always. She sighed in a dreamy way and batted her eyelashes, _'what a man…' _she thought. Skooma had nothing on him (almost). Caldana stepped out from the alley in a hunched fashion and stumbled over the cobblestones toward his door. Quick as a flash she bent down and scraped the goo from his shoes off the doormat and put it in her pocket.

Bolwing watched on from behind a building as Caldana scooped some shoe goo off a doormat obsessively. He shook his head slowly and sighed, he almost missed her crazed pleadings for Skooma, _almost. _Turning away from the pathetic scene he headed back to his usual spot near the gates only to spot Sheogorath's new champion.

"Hello Bolwing!" The Champion greeted in an upbeat voice. Bolwing smiled and nodded in response. It was nice to have someone around who understood what he was saying. It had been starting to get horribly lonely before he arrived; besides, Big Head had often gotten annoying with his constant singing. The Champion moved on quickly as he headed towards the palace, it seemed that The Champion was always on the move. Bolwing glanced over his shoulder to catch one last glance at Caldana before he went back to his usual day of trying to make contact with anyone nearby. Apparently, she had been caught by the new resident and was being scolded for something or another. It was unnaturally amusing and Bolwing smirked as he said

"Gal bursten it."

* * *

"FOOOOORRE!!"

The golf ball flew through the air at a million miles an hour, breaking the sound barrier and numerous other things in a wave of destruction. Sheogorath smiled from under his purple visor and gazed up at the sunny skies above him.

"My Lord, not to question your motives, but was this golfing trip _really _all that necessary?" Haskil asked in his signature monotone. He followed his Lord's gaze as the golf ball smashed through numerous statues, trees, mushrooms, and innocent bystanders. Sheogorath didn't reply and instead picked up his golf club and put it back in its blue carrying case. With a flick of his wrist two of his lower servants appeared next to Haskil with a poof.

"What can we do for you M'Lord?" they said simultaneously.

"Graggymoffalyde, carry my equipment to the next hole. Lynnary, enjoy this strawberry while I stab you multiple times with this giant quill pen." He said in a bored tone.

"Yes sir."

'_Hold on,' _Haskil thought. _'Something is obviously wrong here._' He didn't bring it up though, but instead continued on with Sheogorath as they walked towards the next hole. It was only when Lynnary was dead and Graggymoffalyde was out of earshot that Haskil brought it up.

"Sir, I can't help but notice that you're usual manner of conduct is off, is there something bothering you?" He hated playing therapist, but it was the only way to make things feel unpredictable again, a feeling that Haskil enjoyed.

"Greymarch." Was Sheogorath's short reply.

Haskil nodded "Of course Sir, How could I forget?"

As they reached the next hole the usual smile that donned Sheogorath's face returned, and with a loud voice he shouted,

"FOOOORREE!"


	3. Olav, Odie, and Booze

With wide eyes Modryn examined his room slowly

The room was very elegant; it was cabin like, but had all of the comforts of a high-class inn that you would find in the Imperial City. The large four-poster bed was covered with satin sheets and was draped on all corners with curtains for privacy. Candles were placed neatly around the room and the furniture was made of finely polished mahogany wood with intricate carvings on the sides. Modryn set down his bags and smiled, despite the fact that there was a crazy Altmer who he was sure wanted to rape him, he felt like he might actually enjoy this trip. He opened up his bags and began to unpack, putting everything away in proper order, including his lovely steel mace. Oh yes, he thought, this would be a good trip indeed.

* * *

When he was all done unpacking, Modryn set out to find the nearest tavern. It wasn't very hard, since the island was so small. The first tavern he found had a colorful sign that exclaimed 'THE PARROT'S NEST' in big bold letters as the name of the establishment, and hung next to a tall, colorfully painted building where drunks and sobers alike wandered in and out. He sighed contently and entered the tavern, only to find it strangely more active than other taverns in Cyrodill. The exotic dancers reminded him of another tavern he had visited in Vvardenfell called _Desele's House of Earthly Delights_. He smirked at the memory and continued into the tavern. People were up and moving around and chatting excitedly with one another, causing a loud mosaic of voices to fill the room. He sat down at an empty table and was immediately served by a waiter. _'Good'_, he figured, _'without the guild restrictions, I can get as drunk as I want!' _With this new logic in mind, he set out to order as many drinks as his budget would allow. Pretty soon he was giggling and telling some of his misadventures in a slurred voice to some random, also drunk, strangers. They all guffawed at his little tale of loosing a bet on which of the newest recruits would die first, and they were clutching their sides when he told them about interrogating Ajum Kajin, a Blackwood Company leader, with the Archmage of the Mages Guild.

"D-d-dude, like sherioushly, yew are thee mosht funniesh…uhh Dark Elf I've evur met –hic-." One stranger commented through giggles. There were four of them, including Modryn, sitting at a table in the corner with empty bottles stacked all around them.

Modryn giggled in an out-of-character fashion and downed some more brandy. "Well," he slurred, "I don't mean to brag or nuthin', but I got me some great comedy schills." This caused everyone at the table to cheer and nod in agreement. Then, one of them shouted, "hey, yew should get up there and shing us a funny shong!" Once again, everyone at the table cheered in agreement, and who was (drunk) Modryn to deny their pleadings? So, with the coordination of a man with his ears ripped of, Modryn stood up and began to sing a rousing (if not incomprehensible) version of _'The Lonely Farmers Daughter and Her Magic Carrot.' _Truly, it was a night to remember, as everyone else in the tavern felt like joining in. One man whose purple suit, yellow eyes and silver, smooth backed hair which made him look important, sang quite loudly in a strange accent. The smaller, balding man next to him looked as if he wanted to kill himself, and only sipped at a small glass of water. It was one very fun filled night.

Modryn woke up with a very, _very, _bad hangover. His skull felt like it had been broken open by an angry minotaur and his mouth tasted like he had eaten three servings of his mother's famous 'Kaguti surprise' meatloaf. He groaned and rolled over, luckily, his bed was devoid of other bodies.

"Uuugh…Worst Vacation EVER." He grumbled.

-REFRESH-

Olav had seen some strange things in his days of owning a tavern, but this just took the cake. The conjurer in front of him was grinning wildly as he held a thin leash in his skinny hands.

"Can you please watch my Daedroth, Odie for me while I'm out getting imp gall?" he asked exuberantly. "I won't be too long, and he's very tame, just make sure that he's on his leash at all times." Staring at the Daedroth Olav could only wonder how he was even able to walk into town without being arrested.

"No way." Olav said folding his arms. "It'll probably scare off my patrons and drool in their cups."

"Nonsense," the Conjurer objected, "like I said he's totally tame, this leash is enchanted to make Odie think he's a dog. He'll be really friendly with you're customers and as for the drooling…well I can't deny that he'll drool in your cups but you'll just have to be careful with him." while they talked the Daedroth began to gnaw on one of the nearby tables in boredom.

"Yes but, why me? Don't you have some buddies in an abandoned fort somewhere who can help you?" It didn't make much sense to Olav; why would a random Conjurer whom he had never met before come to his Tavern and ask him to _baby-sit_ a dangerous bloodthirsty Daedra?

"My other friends are too busy trying to domesticate Xivilai to watch cute little Odie here to make sure he doesn't get out." The conjurer said in a miffed way. "Besides, I know you're very responsible with pets and that you'll take good care of him." A thought occurred to Olav as he watched one of his best tables get chewed up by Odie.

"Do you even know my name?" he asked skeptically. The conjurer looked offended then scoffed.

"Of course I know your name Mannimorco. And I know that you'll watch Odie for me, now take his leash and I'll be back soon."

And before Olav could even punch the little sucker in the jaw, he was out the door.

* * *

Needless to say Olav didn't keep his usual customers for very long. They would walk in, he would smile, and then Odie would look up and go bounding towards the newcomer with dogie exuberance. Then, the tavern go-er would scramble out the door, and Olav would have to dig his heels in the floor and pull with all his might to keep the Daedroth from getting away. But, other than having his income cut short for the day, Odie was quite an enjoyable companion. By 3PM he had taught the scaly dogie how sit and roll over (resulting in more broken tables) and even got him to stay still when someone came in. By 6PM one of his usual patrons, Ongar, was brave enough to stay and order a warm bottle of ale

"So," Ongar asked in-between gulps. "What's this big guy's name?"

Sitting at one of the few surviving tables Olav shrugged in a nonchalant manner and replied, "Odie, apparently. Odd name ain't it?"

Ongar's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he nodded, then took another sip from his half-empty bottle of ale.

"So, what're you gonna do with the big guy? I'm assumin' the little turd left the thing here and ran off, or got mauled by a bear since he's taken' so long."

"I'm thinking of either donating him to a Mages Guild conjurer or…" Olav paused, considered what he was about to say, then finished with, "keeping him." The finishing remarked caused Ongar to fall out of his chair and choke on his ale in utter surprise.

"K-keep him?!" Ongar managed to croak out. "Are you _insane_?! Do you want to get hauled off by the city guard? Been there, done that, _not fun_!" He shakily stood back up and stood his chair back on its four legs then sat back down.

"Hey, it's a…good idea! With this leash it'll be like he's a normal dogie, and I can hide him in the cellar if the guard comes." Olav retorted defensively. Ongar lifted a skeptical eyebrow and shook his head; they both knew that was a dumb excuse. During the discussion Odie had been napping in a corner quietly, paws tucked under his chin contently and unnaturally delicate snores sounding every few seconds. Now with a large yawn the Daedroth woke up and scratched behind it's non-existent ear. Olav turned in his chair and watched his now beloved pet with sad eyes. It was true, he couldn't keep him, even the guards weren't stupid enough not to check his cellar and sooner or later someone will report him to the guards (in fact he was surprised that the guards hadn't hauled him away yet).

"…Yeaah so like I said, what are you going to do with him?" Ongar said slowly. Odie cocked his head and stomped his way toward his temporary owner, as if sensing his distress.

"I guess the only option is the Mages Guild, I'd hate to see him killed," Olav sighed. "I hear the Chorrol Mages Guild specializes in conjuration, maybe he can live there." He mumbled hopelessly. They sat in silence as Olav brooded and Ongar searched his pocket for spare septims. Suddenly, an ear-piercing shriek shattered the calm evening. Odie stood alert and Ongar and Olav abruptly sat up in their seats. Swiftly they all scrambled for the door and threw the door open to see what all the commotion was about, nearly getting knocked over by Odie. A man in a crimson robe was attacking a young girl, and the guards were busy hacking through similar men blocking the way. Bystanders tried their best to help but most just stood to the side and watched in terror. With an earth-shattering cry Odie barreled through Ongar and Olav and ran over to the robed attacker. The girl screeched at the sight of the Daedroth and ran deeper into the alley she was cornered in. The attacker, thinking he caused the scream, advanced further, ignorant of Odie's advance. With a swipe of his massive paws, Odie slammed the robed man into the ground and proceeded to rip him to shreds. The man's screams echoed across Bruma, and nearby animals lifted their heads at the disturbance. Guardsmen and citizens alike watched in shock and revulsion as the poor man was ripped apart, then in curiosity as it began to wag its scaly tail and practically hop back to Olav for a good petting and praising. Finally finished with the robed man's comrades, a guardsman approached Olav and with a curious look asked, "Excuse me sir, but are you the owner of this…Daedroth?"

Olav looked away from Odie and replied, "Well, kind of. The owner left it with me and he hasn't returned yet, I assume that he's dead." Seeing the Guard's wary look he added, "Oh, don't worry about him attacking you, this leash makes him think he's a normal house dog. Mostly harmless."

The guard nodded and said, "Well, I suppose the proper thing to do would be arresting you for owning a dangerous creature in town limits, but seeing as he just saved a life and hasn't hurt any innocent people…". The guard stopped the think and the other townsfolk took the opportunity to inch closer to Odie. Finally the guard came to a decision.

"We'll take it to the Countess, we'll try to have her decision to you by tomorrow, good night citizen."

They both sighed in relief, and re-entered the tavern for some celebratory cyrodillic brandy and sweetrolls. By mid-morning the Countess had written up a special contract that stated that Odie may stay in the town as long as he didn't harm anyone and that if the original owner ever returned Olav was required to return him. The original owner's remains were found approximately two hundred feet from the city walls with injuries suggesting a bear attack, and Odie and Olav lived… cheerily forevermore.

THE END

* * *

Writers' block sucks. Idea's for the Modryn story just won't come. HEY READERS! Tell me, what should happen next? Give me suggestions! If you do, I'll update faster and give you free tickets to The Hill of Suicides! Wait…


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